


Night Terrors

by Taren25



Category: Legend of Spyro
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-14 10:59:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16911669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taren25/pseuds/Taren25
Summary: It's been several weeks since Spyro and Cynder defeated Malefor. However, Spyro is still haunted by the losses he suffered, and the trauma he endured during his adventures. How can he sleep, when the dreaming world is far more terrifying than reality?





	1. Chapter 1

Spyro the dragon took a deep breath, letting it out in satisfaction as his nostrils took in the scents of the woods. Avalar felt so much cleaner and fresher, and safer, now that there was no threat of Grublins or apes in it. Flowers bloomed in the moonlight, owls hooted, and the shimmering light of the stars and the twin moons shone down on the forest canopy, bathing the entire forest in silver light. Spyro didn’t know how he’d gotten here, or where his friends were, but he felt at peace, a feeling that had been eluding him for a long time. 

He hadn’t had a chance to do something like this in a very long time, not even since that first day that he had been playing hide and seek with Sparx back in their swampy home and he had discovered that he was a dragon, not a dragonfly. Since then he’d been with the other Dragons, and Malefor. But now, he thought with a sigh of satisfaction, that was all over. He and Cynder had made their way back up to the surface, and returned to Warfang to the ringing cheers of everyone in the city. 

Since then they’d been preoccupied with rebuilding the city from Malefor’s siege, and allowing the land to heal from the depravities of his armies. Spyro himself had been visiting a variety of settlements, from the Atlawa to the Manweresmalls, and more, but now that that was all done, and reconstruction of the Dragon Realms was underway, he’d come back to Warfang for what would hopefully be a great deal of downtime. 

Spyro stopped by the grassy shore of a river, the water being turned silver like the trees as the moonlight shone down on it. He sat down, closing his eyes and letting the gentle lapping of the water reach into his mind. Yes, peace and quiet. This was what he needed right now.

“A beautiful spot, young dragon,” a voice said from behind him. A very familiar voice.

Spyro opened his eyes and turned his head to look over his shoulder, his purple eyes widening. “Ignitus!”

“Hello, Spyro!” Ignitus said, his red eyes brightening as he smiled at his protégé. “It’s good to see you again.”

Spyro ran up and threw himself against his mentor’s chest, rubbing his head against the Fire Guardian’s warm scales. “Ignitus, it’s so good to see you! I was so worried…with the Belt, and Malefor, and the Destroyer, and--.”

“It’s quite alright, young dragon,” Ignitus said soothingly as Spyro backed away. “But I am glad to see you safe as well. You undoubtedly proved to be far stronger than Malefor, and in proving that you have saved not just dragonkind, but the entire world as well.”

“Well…I had a lot of help,” Spyro said, looking up at Ignitus and smiling. “Sparx, you, Cynder, Volteer, Cyril, Terrador, Hunter…everyone else helped me to be that strong.”

“Yes, that’s good,” Ignitus said, nodding. “Strength in one’s friends can always be an admirable quality.” 

The two dragons went back to the riverbank and sat down together. “Ignitus,” Spyro said suddenly, looking back up at the Guardian, “can I ask you something?”

“Anything, Spyro,” Ignitus replied.

“How did you…survive?” Spyro asked, raising one eye ridge. “I mean, when you went into the Belt of Fire with Cynder and I…we both thought you were gone. But…” He reached out, putting one paw on Ignitus’s red flank, feeling the warmth of his scales, the rising and falling of his body as he breathed, the rustling sounds of his wings as they shuffled slightly. “But you’re as real as I am.”

Ignitus chuckled in that raspy way he normally did. “Well, Spyro, I am Guardian of Fire after all. I have my own secrets. But then again, I expect you would know about what it means to be alive more than I…seeing as you left me to die.”

Spyro froze, his pupils shrinking as he held his paw on Ignitus’s flank. The Fire Guardian’s scales were slowly growing hotter, far hotter than they ever had while Spyro had known him. He looked up at Ignitus’s face, watching the dragon smile down at him. It was a very toothy smile, one that Spyro had never seen him give before. “Wh…what?”

“Oh come now, Spyro, I’m sure you remember,” Ignitus said. “I give you and Cynder time to get through the Belt of Fire, teach you everything I know about what it means to be a dragon, and you repay me by leaving me to die horrifically?”

Spyro stood up, starting to back away from Ignitus. “N-no…I…I didn’t do that!”

“Do you know what it’s like, to burn to death?” Ignitus asked, still in the friendly tone Spyro knew so well as he also stood up. His eyes were bright now, almost completely red, and seemed to shine as he faced Spyro and spread his wings, which now seemed to be smoking along the edges. “I imagine you don’t, because you’ve never experienced true heat, as I have. You’ve never felt fire turn your scales black. You’ve never felt them peel from your body, exposing your helpless muscle to the heat, felt the membrane on your wings burn away and your bones turn to ash. And all I see as agony consumes my body is you…abandoning me. The first dragon you ever met. The one who taught you everything I know. And you leave me behind.”

“I didn’t!” Spyro said. “I-I thought you were dead! It’s…it’s not my fault!”

“But it is,” Ignitus said, his scales starting to peel away, fire lacing his body as bone appeared beneath, his wings and horns and spines smoking as he began to advance on Spyro. “You are a Purple Dragon, Spyro. You have power far beyond even me, as a Guardian. After all, you put the world back together when it was breaking apart. You could have entered the Belt. You could have saved me.” Now the fire had burned away his face, leaving only the skeleton of a dragon, his eyes burning a hellish red. “But…you…DIDN’T!”

“Ignitus, please!” Spyro felt his rear bump against a tree, and felt his body shivering as he faced the demon dragon. “I…I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I wanted to go in and get you! I swear I did!”

“It’s far too late for apologies, Spyro,” Ignitus said, flames broiling at the edges of his skeletal mouth as the red lights glared at the cowering young dragon. “Oh, poor Spyro. Spyro, Spyro, Spyro, Spyro, Spyro…”

***

“Spyro. Spyro. _Spyro._ Spyro!”

Spyro’s eyes snapped open, his pupils nearly dots. He looked to his right, seeing…more eyes!

“GET AWAY!” he screamed, kicking out with all four legs as his wings flapped frantically. He careened off of the bed, flying across the room to slam back-first into the closest wall. “Agh!”

A light flicked on just above him in the small container where Sparx had been sleeping. “Whasshappun…” the dragonfly’s sleepy voice said from inside it. Spyro didn’t pay any mind to it, instead frantically looking around the large bedroom. 

“Spyro?” a small voice said from the bed, a pair of bright aquamarine eyes peeking over the edge of the bed. “Spyro, are you okay?”

Cynder ducked back down as Spyro’s head snapped in her direction, the other dragon’s eyes slowly becoming fuller as he realized where he was. “C-Cynder?”

“I’m here, Spyro.” Cynder rose her head out from the shelter of the bed again, hopping off of it and walking over to Spyro. “I’m…I’m sorry I woke you. You were thrashing around and yelling in your sleep so I tried to see if you were okay…”

“I-it’s fine, Cynder.” Spyro looked away from her, back at the wall. “I’m sorry I woke you up too.”

“And I’m sorry I got _woken_ up!” Sparx said as he fluttered out of his cage and down to the two dragons. “I wake up to a big crash and screaming and now you two are just apologizing back and forth to each other?”

“I’m sorry, Sparx…” Spyro said softly.

“Don’t apologize to _me_ , buddy!” Sparx exclaimed. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing, Sparx,” Cynder replied. “Spyro just had a nightmare.”

“Sounded like a lot more than a nightmare,” Sparx said, folding his arms and looking at the two dragons. Spyro returned his gaze to the wall as the dragonfly sighed. “I’m goin’ back to bed.” He flew back in his cage and the light went out.

Cynder walked over to Spyro, who stood up as she approached. “You okay?”

Spyro opened his mouth to say something, closed it for a second, then shook his head. “No. It was…” he sighed, then looked at her again. “I’ve never had a dream like that. I’ve had…visions, I guess, before now, but this…this wasn’t a vision.”

“It was a nightmare, Spyro,” Cynder replied, putting a paw on his shoulder. “That’s all.” She cocked her head to one side, her dark scales making her eyes the only reference point on her face in the dark room. “Do you remember what it was?”

Spyro nodded. “It was…it was about Ignitus.”

“Oh.” Cynder’s eyes turned down to the floor. “You still miss him, huh?”

“Every day,” Spyro sighed. The two walked back over to the bed and hopped back onto it, Cynder helping Spyro to replace the pillows and sheets that Spyro had thrashed out of place. “I know the other Guardians are still around, but…Ignitus taught me everything I know. He told me about how I had ended up with my parents, taught me how to fly, taught me how to breathe fire…” He looked at Cynder. “It’s…it’s still hard to believe he’s gone.”

“I know.” Cynder rubbed her cheek against Spyro’s. “So…what happened in the dream?”

“Well…I was walking in the forest,” Spyro began. “You know, the beautiful one, in Avalar?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, I was walking through there…and when I sat down by a river, Ignitus showed up. And he was alive. Alive, and fine, and not on fire…at first.”

“At first?” One of Cynder’s eye ridges rose up. “What do you mean?”

“Well…as we talked…he started to change.” Spyro shuddered, his pupils starting to dilate again. “He…he started asking me why I hadn’t saved him. Told me that I left him to die. And he…he started to change. His scales burned off, and he t-turned into a skeleton, or a demon or something.”

“And that’s when you woke up?” Cynder said. Spyro nodded, and she laid down next to him. “Oh Spyro…I don’t know what to say.”

“I’ve never had a dream like this,” Spyro said, looking down at his claws, then up at Cynder. “I thought once Malefor was beaten, everything would be better. But now I have to deal with all of this.”

“It could be worse,” Cynder said. “It’s just bad dreams…and Spyro, you more than anyone have reasons to have nightmares, after everything you went through.” She smiled at him. “Besides, Malefor’s gone. Just maybe…I don’t know, think about that when you go to sleep? You know, happy thoughts.”

Spyro thought for a minute. “Hm…Yeah…Maybe that’ll work.” He looked back at Cynder. “But if I start thrashing around again, wake me up, okay?”

“Sure.” Cynder nuzzled Spyro’s cheek. “Now c’mon, let’s get back to sleep. I bet you’ve got a full day tomorrow.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Spyro said, cringing as he thought about his schedule in the morning. “I have to go with Volteer, Cyril, and Terrador to meet with the city’s moles to talk about how they’re going to repair the city after the siege, now that we’ve taken care of the outlying settlements…not to mention that dam we broke. And Hunter’s coming with a delegation from the cheetahs too to talk about establishing a sort of ranger corps to help keep the peace better and watch out for more trouble.”

“Sounds busy.” Cynder said as she padded around in a circle, plopping down and starting to pull the covers back over herself. “All the more reason for you to get back to sleep, especially when you have that much stuff to do.” 

Spyro did the same, watching as Cynder’s breathing rapidly assumed the slow, even breaths of deep sleep. But at the same time, fear gnawed at his stomach. He knew he had to sleep, he knew he had to be well-rested and alert in the morning. But at the same time, he couldn’t. The threat of another nightmare, of another encounter with the dream Ignitus, was too large in Spyro’s mind. And if he couldn’t sleep, then the answer was simple. He’d just stay awake until the morning. 

Spyro crept out of bed again, doing his best not to disturb Cynder, and snuck over to the single window that the room had. Silver moonlight lanced across its narrow breadth, shining into the room and tracking across the stone floor and all the way to the opposite wall. Spyro went to the sill, looking out over Warfang. 

After the war against Malefor, Spyro, Cynder, and Sparx had been given a room in one of the more luxurious buildings in Warfang. The tower, tall and round-topped like so many of the other buildings in the city, had a commanding view of the cityscape and the Burned Lands far beyond the walls. Spyro avoided looking at that for very long; the mere thought of that place still made him shiver. It made him remember Ignitus too, which was the last thing he needed right now, as bad as it sounded. 

He contented himself with looking out over Warfang. Most of the buildings this time of night were dark; any reasonable person was inside, sleeping. The only ones who weren’t were the moles and dragons on the city’s walls, who were still keeping a constant vigilance over plains in front of the city as they watched for any trouble. Though Malefor’s death had caused the death of all of the Grublins that Malefor had replaced his apes with, the possibility of other threats was always there. While Spyro and the other Guardians had thought continuing the watch on the walls was pointless, Terrador had been able to persuade them to at least keep a token garrison. 

Beyond the walls a few patrols walked the streets, their role more generally keeping law and order. Dragons flew around above the city, taking a higher view where they could see more at any point. Those had also been Terrador’s idea, once again over the misgivings of the other Guardians and Spyro himself. 

Spyro then turned his attention away from the streets, up towards the sky. While the twin moons still hung in the sky like always, he had always been fascinated about the constellation that had appeared following Malefor’s defeat. He smiled a bit as he remembered his reaction to it when he and Cynder had gotten back from the Burned Lands, especially when he discovered that the inhabitants of the Realms had taken it upon themselves to name the constellation the “Dawning Dragon” by popular acclaim…though in general parlance, they simply called it Spyro. 

Cynder and Sparx had laughed at the blush on his face for what had seemed like an eternity, and the joke had continued for a good while longer, right up until the day that, among the ruins of Warfang, the city’s citizens had held a memorial service for Ignitus and those others who had died in the war. A statue of Ignitus now stood in the city’s central plaza, lovingly carved by the moles. Another surprise had been in for Spyro when they had unveiled it, and he had seen the small addition of himself at the elder dragon’s feet, where he’d always been.

The whole situation amazed him. The fact that he was still _here_ amazed him. He’d fully expected that his trip to the core of the world to stop Malefor and keep the world from being destroyed would be a one-way trip. If not by burning himself out with the sheer strain of trying to hold the world together, then by being killed by Malefor, or dying on the way, be it by any of the monsters in the Burned Lands, or in the Belt of Fire…with Ignitus. Yet by some miracle of the Ancestors, Spyro had lived, and so had Cynder. And now they lived together, in Warfang, in peace. 

But why couldn’t he get to sleep? The question haunted him. He hadn’t had a problem immediately after the war had ended. During all of his adventures he’d experienced visions and other phenomena whenever he went to sleep, but he’d never had any problem actually sleeping. Was it because the adrenaline had worn off? The feeling of victory now replaced with the determination to rebuild after so much devastation? 

Spyro harrumphed softly and rested his head on the cold stone of the windowsill. The more he thought about it, the more it became more annoying than frightening. It was just a nightmare, he knew that much. He’d had nightmares before during his childhood, but a quick word from his parents had always been enough to put them at east. So why could he not bring himself to get back to sleep? Some latent fear of seeing Ignitus again? Or even something worse?

Or perhaps Cynder was right, and he just needed to think happy thoughts before he went back to sleep. Moving away from the window he went back to the bed, crawling back up in it and making himself comfortable before he pulled the covers back over himself, resting his head on his pillow and shutting his eyes. He thought of all of the good things that had happened since he’d first left his swamp those three years ago. Meeting Cynder, meeting Ignitus and the other Guardians, learning to fly, meeting Hunter, learning his origins, saving the world. All the people he’d met, all of the places he’d been, the wonders he’d seen…there was plenty that he had to work with. 

But at the same time, there were a large number of negative memories to go alongside the positive ones that couldn’t help but tag along. Cynder as that looming behemoth that had chased he and Sparx all over the realms, Gaul kidnapping Cynder…the thought of that dark shadow within his own soul, waiting for opportunities to burst out. And then there was Malefor, the Destroyer, Cynder turning dark and attacking him…and Ignitus. As he drifted off to sleep Spyro started to toss and turn again, murmuring and jerking as those own thoughts invaded his dreams again.


	2. Chapter 2

“Spyro…”

“Mm…” Spyro grunted, his eyes gently shut as his back rose and fell with slow, even breaths.

“Spyro?”

“Mmmmmm…” Spyro moved his head slightly, his cheek squishing up against the cold marble table. It felt good, even in the cool autumn air that was currently blanketing Warfang.

“Spyro!” 

“GAH!” Spyro shot upright, eyes wide as the booming voice of Terrador roused him from the involuntary catnap he’d been having. Blinking rapidly to clear his eyes, Spyro looked around the large, circular meeting room. The room itself was almost entirely unremarkable; a small room that had mainly been used due to being the biggest room available. Much like the rest of Warfang it was stone, but warmed by torches and interspersed with high, narrow windows. Multicolored tapestries displaying the heraldry of each of the elements known to dragonkind hung between windows and torches in a constant, repeating pattern. 

Spyro himself, along with Terrador, Volteer, Cyril, and a number of moles, sat around a marble table that was just as circular as the room. The table was an open circle, and within the circle itself another mole stood on a dais, a small-scale model of Warfang itself in front of him and clearly visible to everyone at the table. Every single mole and dragon in the room was staring at Spyro, and he grinned sheepishly.

“Spyro, dear chap,” Cyril said to break the awkward silence, “I know for a fact that architecture can be quite boring even for those who do have experience with it, but please try to stay awake, would you?”

“I-I’m sorry, Cyril,” Spyro said. “I guess I nodded off without knowing it.”

“It’s alright, sir,” the mole said, waving a paw dismissively. “Like Lord Cyril said, even we find architecture boring sometimes. We know you meant no offense.”

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Terrador said, “please continue, Chief Architect.”

“Right.” The mole nodded and went back to his model, using a pointer to pick out various buildings and areas of the city. “Well, as I was saying, we’re prioritizing the gaping hole in the wall first, the one that was left by the Dark Master’s golem. It’s not a very big hole despite the fact that it was smashed so easily, so it shouldn’t take that long to fix, especially with enough moles. After that, I was thinking that we should prioritize fixing all of the buildings damaged in the siege before we move to rebuilding those that were actually lost…”

“Are you alright, Spyro?” Terrador asked, the enormous green dragon leaning down and whispering to him. “You seem out of it.”

“I…didn’t sleep well last night,” Spyro said. 

“I can imagine.” Terrador nodded sagely. “You’re in a strange new place, in a strange new world. Warfang isn’t your family’s home, nor is it the Temple. It will simply take you a while to truly get used to living here.”

“Y-yeah.” Spyro nodded, averting his eyes from Terrador and staring at a particular whorl in the table’s pattern. “Yeah, that must be it.”

“…and from there, when we’ve completed all of the building reconstruction, I believe we should next turn our attention to the dam that was destroyed by Spyro and Cynder…”

The whorl in the table was actually quite pleasing to look at, Spyro thought as he continued to stare at it, only half-listening to the Chief Architect. His eyes traced its shape again and again. It helped to relax him. It was so relaxing in fact, that he could barely keep his eyes open…

***

“I must say, Spyro, I didn’t notice when you came in but you look quite out of sorts,” Volteer said. “Why, it was only yesterday when you were bright-eyed and ready to get to work, but this morning you look absolutely dreadful!”

“Do I?” Spyro asked. 

“You do, now that I get a better look at you,” Terrador said.

“Absolutely dreadful!” Cyril said, stopping and turning to look at Spyro. “You’re slow to react to things, you nodded off multiple times while the Chief Architect was speaking, your scales are quite discolored, and to top it all off you have these dreadful bags under your eyes!”

“He said he didn’t sleep well last night,” Terrador said as the three large dragons gathered around Spyro. “But it looks like you barely slept at all, Spyro. Were you up all night?”

“No!” Spyro said defensively, backing away from the three slightly. “I was just out late and, uh, I stayed up late talking with Cynder.”

“With Cynder you say?” Volteer asked, leaning in with bright eyes and a knowing smile. “And just how late were you up talking, hm?”

“Wait wha—no!” Spyro shook his head. “I-I…not like that!”

“Oh do come off it, Volteer,” Cyril said. “I am _quite_ sure it is not like that at all!”

“Rubbish!” Volteer retorted. “Have you seen the way they’ve been behaving with one another since they returned from Malefor’s lair? I happen to know for a fact that whenever he’s around Cynder Spyro very rapidly turns a rather deep shade of red!”

“And just where did you hear _that_? Are you a gossiping nanny now that you’re keeping track of his love habits?"

“Enough!” Terrador said, firmly thwacking the ground with his large, spiked tail. “This bickering is pointless. And invasive to Spyro’s privacy besides. Whether he’s seeing Cynder or not, it still doesn’t change the fact that…where’d he go?”

Volteer and Cyril followed Terrador’s gaze down to the part of the concourse where Spyro had stood among them, but the little purple dragon was now gone. Looking up in the sky they could see his form rapidly getting smaller, lost amongst the buildings as he headed for the main gate. 

Spyro landed in front of Warfang’s great metal gates, breathing a loud sigh of relief as he sat down in the shade of a tree. He thought he’d never be able to get away from the other Guardians, especially Volteer. He allowed himself a moment of huffiness, getting upset with the electric dragon for insinuating that. Yet at the same time, his words had made Spyro remember, once again, the words that Cynder had said as he had unleashed all of his power to save the world from being broken apart by the Destroyer’s power.

_I love you._

He had heard it, and it had only affirmed his resolve and given him the strength he needed to pull the planet back together. And, deep down, though he couldn’t have said it at the time, he had returned Cynder’s affection. How could he not? It was her that had pulled him back from the brink at the Belt of Fire. He that had done the same for her when Malefor had attempted to turn her against him. And all the time they had been together even before then, overcoming great odds with each other’s support.

But even then, with that ever-burgeoning warmth in his chest that thinking about Cynder gave him, it was drowned as he thought about what the Guardians had said. He didn’t think he had looked _that_ bad when he’d left to go to the meeting, but apparently, he’d been wrong. All throughout the night, even after that first dream with Ignitus, he’d been unable to truly fall asleep, starting to sink beneath the waves of slumber only to suddenly come up gasping, his body subconsciously forcing him to stay awake. Even the catnaps he’d taken during the meeting hadn’t been enough to refresh him, especially with the last one before they had adjourned, where he’d actually started snoring before Terrador had woken him again. 

It had been so embarrassing that Spyro had been glad to get out of there, no matter how bored he’d been (which had been a great deal.) But now the meeting was done, Spyro was away from the Guardians, and, hopefully, Spyro would be meeting Hunter and the cheetah delegation any minute now and could take his mind off of things. Unlike the Guardians, Hunter had tact. He wouldn’t point out that Spyro looked like he hadn’t slept well, and he most certainly wouldn’t tease him about Cynder. As he waited, he looked around. 

He and Cynder hadn’t been able to get a very good tour of Warfang during their last visit, with the siege and then the subsequent attack by the Destroyer. But now, with peace restored, the city was very busy. Moles from both the city and from Mount Boyzitbig, Atlawa llamas, dragons, and more were constantly threading in and out of the main gate, both on foot and towing wagons, knapsacks, bags, and more. Warfang was becoming quite cosmopolitan, especially now that the roads were safe and people could travel without worry of running into monsters or apes.

After a few minutes, the crowd that was constantly threading in and out of the open gates began to part, making way for the collection of figures that were now heading through the gates. They were cheetahs, many of them wielding traveling staves. And leading them, his customary bow slung across his back…

“Hunter!” Spyro said, getting up and scampering over. “It’s good to see you again!”

“Likewise, Spyro,” Hunter said, kneeling down and shaking Spyro’s offered paw. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been alright,” Spyro replied. “Just busy. Lots of things to do to help repair the city.”

“Yes, it seems so.” Hunter nodded. “I imagine you’ve been busy far into the night, with those bags under your eyes.”

Spyro pressed his lips together, managing to prevent himself from groaning in frustration. He then smiled, giving Hunter a big toothy grin that made the cheetah take pause. “Haha, yep! Busy busy!”

“I see…” Hunter raised an eyebrow. “Hopefully we can make this quick, then.” Hunter gestured to the other cheetahs in his group. “These are some of my people’s best scouts. I was thinking that we could use them as the start in the ranger group, and then we could add other races as it goes on.”

“I know Terrador would like that,” Spyro said. “Come on, I’ll take you to them. We’ve got rooms set up for your subordinates too.”

Turning, he led the cheetahs back through Warfang’s streets and back towards the upper tiers of the city, Hunter walking beside him as the rest of the cheetahs followed behind. “So, Hunter,” Spyro began as they climbed a long set of stairs, “what’ve you been up to?”

“Nothing much.” Hunter shrugged. “Chief Prowlus has just been sending me out to clear Shadow Apes out of Avalar, along with keeping an eye out for any Grublins that might still be lurking. Other than that, we’ve been rebuilding our own lands as well.” He looked down at Spyro. “And what about you? Any adventures?”

“Hehe, not many,” Spyro laughed. “Mainly just been here and running around outside the city, checking up on things. I barely get any time to myself these days.”

“A shame.” Hunter looked down and smiled at him. “You more than anyone could use a break.” He turned his attention back to the stairs, his paws padding softly on the stone. “And how is Cynder? I haven’t heard much of her since you both got back.”

“She’s fine.” Spyro shrugged. “I think right now she’s just…adjusting.”

“Understandable.” Hunter nodded sagely. “I imagine it will take her a long time to truly be comfortable around others, with everything she’s been through. She’s never really had a life of her own, and this is her first opportunity to truly have one.”

Eventually they reached the top of the stairs, where Terrador, Volteer, and Cyril were waiting for them. Hunter and the other cheetahs bowed. “Guardians. Thank you for seeing us.”

“We would be remiss if we didn’t, Hunter,” Cyril said. 

“Yes,” Terrador added. “You and your people did a great service to us against Malefor. To not include you in rebuilding would be a mistake on our part.”

“And I see you brought Spyro back to us yet again!” Volteer said, chuckling as he spotted the young dragon. “I do wish to apologize, Spyro, I didn’t mean to embarrass you like that.”

“Embarrass?” Hunter asked.

“I-it’s nothing!” Spyro said quickly. “Come on, let’s get inside.”

***

Spyro yawned enormously as he walked back into the room that he shared with Cynder and Sparx later that night, setting his sights immediately on the bed even as Sparx buzzed up next to him. “So, how was it?” the dragonfly asked. “Get done with all your important business stuff?”

“Yeah,” Spyro said before yawning again. “Yeah, we got everything done. Where’s Cynder?”

“She went out,” Sparx replied. “Dunno where, frankly don’t care. But you, my purple friend, you look _awful_!”

“I know,” Spyro said, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “Everyone else has been telling me the same thing, Sparx, I don’t need you doing it too.”

“Well _excuuuuuse_ me, hero.” Sparx folded his arms. “Just showing some concern for my brother, sorry.”

“Oh _now_ you’re concerned.” Spyro snorted. “Where was that three years ago, huh? What’s next, you gonna tell me that if I lose some weight I won’t be as tired?”

“Whoa there, buddy!” Sparx backed away from Spyro, holding his hands up. “Just sayin’. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“It’s none of your business, Sparx.” Spyro continued his trek to the bed and hopped up in it, not even bothering to pull the covers over himself as his head hit the pillow. “Just…leave me alone, okay? I’m really tired.”

“Okay.” Sparx watched Spyro climb into bed. “Yeah, I’ll be quiet. Won’t even know I’m here, promise.” 

Spyro groaned and Sparx actually shut up, just going over to pull the bedclothes over Spyro’s body before heading back to his own “bedroom”. 

***

“Ah, Cynder!” Hunter said as the young dragoness knocked on his door. The cheetah stood aside, indicating the inside of his room with a paw. “Come in.”

“Thanks, Hunter.” Cynder entered Hunter’s room, a small space that only had one bed that was thankfully cheetah-sized. Hunter’s cloak was hung up on a hook embedded into the wall, while his bow and quiver were left leaning against the footboard of his bed alongside his pack.

“So,” Hunter said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this late-night visit? Is it about Spyro?”

Cynder stopped in her tracks, turning to Hunter and sitting down. “How did you know?”

“It’s easy enough to know he hasn’t been sleeping well,” Hunter said, sitting down on his bed and pointing a claw towards his black-rimmed eyes. “And he seemed very unfocused in our meeting about establishing the ranger corps. He nearly fell asleep a few times.”

Cynder nodded. “Then, yes, it is about Spyro.” She looked out the room’s windows, over at the rising moons. “Last night, he woke up screaming from a dream…and I don’t think he ever went back to sleep.”

“A nightmare?” Hunter asked. He tilted his head to the side, his ears twitching. “And you’re concerned?”

“He said it was about Ignitus,” Cynder explained. “They were very close, and when Ignitus died it hit Spyro really hard.”

“And what do you think I should do?” Hunter asked. “I’m not very familiar with dragon nightmares. And I don’t really know what to do for regular nightmares either, aside from going back to sleep and hoping it doesn’t happen again.”

“I see.” Cynder rubbed her chin with a paw, thinking. “I’m sorry Hunter, I’m wasting your time.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Hunter got up, reaching out and putting a paw on Cynder’s forehead, rubbing it gently. “You’re worried about a friend and thought I could help.  
Maybe ask some of the Guardians? They might know more about it.”

“They’re probably asleep by now,” Cynder sighed. “But I don’t think Spyro has anything pressing in the morning, so we can go talk to them together then.”

Hunter nodded. “I’ll go too, if you like.” He stood up and walked Cynder to the door. “But for now I imagine that you’re rather tired yourself. You go on back to Spyro. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Cynder inclined her head at the cheetah. “Thank you, Hunter.”


	3. Chapter 3

Cynder came back to a dark room as she flew into their tower’s bedroom, her claws clicking softly as she landed. Everything seemed quiet; she could see the bundle that was Spyro’s body on their bed, and fitful golden light glittered from Sparx’s own room as the sounds of his snoring matched Spyro’s own. Cynder gave a sigh of relief and a smile as she walked over to the bed, keeping an eye on Spyro as she did so. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully, curled up in a small loaf, only the odd twitch betraying the fact that he was dreaming. She heard him mutter something, his wings twitching and giving gentle half-flaps. 

Satisfied that he wasn’t having a nightmare, Cynder climbed into bed herself and pulled the covers over her. She lay stretched out on her side, her head turned in Spyro’s direction to keep watch on him in case she needed to wake him up quickly. 

“Ignitus…turn back…” Spyro murmured in his sleep, and Cynder’s satisfied smile flipped, a worried frown taking its place. Her own memory came back to her, and she cringed as she remembered. Her, Spyro, and Ignitus landing outside of the Belt of Fire, Ignitus attempting to shield them…only to falter, with Spyro begging him to turn back and try for another way. But the Guardian had refused. She reached out, gently stroking Spyro’s face with a paw. 

“It’s alright, Spyro,” she whispered. “There’s nothing you can do for him now.” She rolled over, hoping that Spyro would calm down and go to sleep as the dream became nothing more than a bad memory. She closed her eyes, and slowly sank down into the soft darkness of sleep.

***

“CYNDER! CYNDER NO! NOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Cynder and Sparx were awoken with a jolt as Spyro rocketed off the bed, flying straight up into the air with a scream before braking just below the ceiling, barely brushing the stone with his horns as he looked around frantically. “Cynder! Cynder, where are you?!”

“Down here!” Cynder called up to him from where she lay on the bed, drawing a panicked glance from him. Spyro shot down onto the bed like a comet, immediately gathering Cynder up in a surprisingly strong grip and hugging her close. “Gah! S-Spyro!”

“Cynder…Cynder I’m so sorry…I’m so sorry, Cynder…” Spyro buried his head in Cynder’s neck, wrapping his wings around her body as his claws began to dig uncomfortably into her back. “Please Cynder…please…please forgive me…”

“It’s okay, Spyro…” Cynder said. “I’m here. I’m okay. What…what happened?”

There was a small pause. Behind her, Spyro’s eyes were wide, his pupils once again shrunken to the size of pinpricks as his tail slowly curled around them both. “I killed you.”

Cynder looked at the back of Spyro’s head, unable to turn towards him because of how close he was holding her. “W…What?”

“Well that’s obviously not true, buddy!” Sparx said as he flew over. “You’re huggin’ her right now! Reeeeally close, too.”

“It felt so real…” Spyro murmured. “I…I thought that…”

“Spyro. Shhhhh.” Cynder pulled her head back from his, looking him in the eyes. “I’m right here. I’m fine. It was just a dream. Another nightmare. Nothing bad happened, okay?”

Spyro slowly released Cynder, folding his wings back against his sides and letting her gently work her way free of his front legs. He curled in on himself, hunching over and lowering his head. The purple dragon was shaking furiously, his breathing ragged and unsteady and his pupils still shrunken. “Cynder?”

“Hm?” 

“Are you…” Spyro swallowed, his mouth suddenly bone-dry. “Are you…are you really okay?”

“Spyro.” Cynder reached out and put one paw on one of Spyro’s. “I’m here. I’m okay. What happened, in your dream?”

“I…” Spyro swallowed again. “We were at the Belt. You, me, and Ignitus. And…and he died again. And when that…that thing, that shadow, took me over…you couldn’t stop me.” He looked up at her. “You tried to stop me…get me to come back…but I…I threw rocks at you. Over and over again. You were b-buried…I killed you, Cynder and…” He dropped his head back down again, his voice cracking. “I’m so sorry…”

“It’s okay, Spyro,” Cynder said. “I’m here. I’m alive. And I know you’d never hurt me.”

“Okay. Okay…” Spyro shook his head, then hopped off the bed. “I’m going out for a while. Don’t wait up.”

“Wait! Spyro!” Cynder hopped off the bed too as Spyro spread his wings and took off, flying out of the window and off into the night without a backward glance. “Spyro, come back!”

But Spyro didn’t. He flew over Warfang’s skyline as fast as he could, wings flapping frantically as he kept his eyes squeezed shut. He didn’t want to see the Mountain or the Burned Lands, didn’t want to see anything related to Malefor. Angling west, he took off that way, passing over the city’s walls and over the mountains. He knew that Avalar was there, knew that it was, for now, empty of anyone that he knew. Anyone he would dream of hurting, anyone that could terrify him once again. 

But at the same time, he couldn’t get away from the nightmare he’d had. Seeing Ignitus die again, feeling himself be completely overwhelmed by his darker self. Helpless to do anything, only able to watch from within a cage of shadows as his body had lifted rocks and hurled them at Cynder. She hadn’t been able to dodge because of their necklace, the bond they’d been forced into. First one had pinned down a wing. Another had broken her leg. Others pinning her down, hemming her in as she’d screamed in pain.

_“You won’t stop me, Cynder!”_ he’d shouted at her. _“He’s not gone! And I’m going to find him!”_

_“Spyro, don’t!”_ she’d begged one last time, just before a final rock, a colossal one that he’d ripped out of the ground with barely any effort, had dropped down onto the entire pile, crushing the whole thing beneath its weight. With that, unable to contain his grief, he’d woken up screaming. _Again._

_What is happening to me?_ Spyro thought as he landed in a field, panting from how fast he’d been flying. Warfang was now far out of sight, concealed by mountains and the trees around him. So was the mountain, and the Burned Lands. No one around. No one to point out the obvious, that he wasn’t sleeping well. No one to tell him he was okay when he wasn’t. 

Spyro found a spot of open ground to curl up in and did so, planting his chin on the ground as he stared in front of him, at a flower. It was a pretty one, especially at night. Bright white in color, it was turned silver by the moonlight that bathed the entire meadow, and was just bright enough that, if he focused on it and nothing else, it kept him awake from the light it emitted. 

He couldn’t fall asleep again. He just couldn’t. If he fell asleep again, he’d have more nightmares. He’d hurt someone else, see Ignitus again, see more pain and despair happen and be unable to stop it. Even when he’d been trying to nap during the rest of the day, he’d seen it starting; dreams that would be starting normally, but began to show signs of turning down that same dark path. But each time, that same question came back to him: Why?

Why could he not get any sleep? Why was it that every single time he went to bed, or even closed his eyes for a few short minutes, those nightmares came back? He had won. Saved the world, fulfilled his destiny as a purple dragon. Started a new age of peace after so many years of bloodshed. The world was at peace now. There was no reason to be scared of anything, no reason for him to have nightmares. But here he was. 

Spyro sighed, shutting his eyes as he contemplated. There had to be a way for him to finally get some sleep...He’d ask the Guardians in the morning. They were old and wise. They’d probably had this happen to them too, at some point. 

_Spyro…_

Spyro’s eyes snapped open, looking first one way, then the other. He was still in that field, that same flower waving gently in the breeze directly in front of him. There was no one else around, not on the edges of the trees or next to him in the meadow itself.

_Spyro…_

So, who was that? Spyro sat up, looking around the meadow. It was quiet; no one stood at the edge of the forest, no one flying around above him. He slowly got to his feet, looking around. “H-Hello?” he called into the night. The wind was his only answer, shifting the grass and flowers around him, carrying with it that same whisper. 

_Come to me, Spyro…_

“Come to who? Who are you?” Spyro called back. But as he watched, the grass in front of him opened up like a pathway, all pointing towards a light in the distance that was gently shining, almost beckoning him. Squinting against the light’s brightness Spyro moved forward, his claws softly padding on the grass as the pathway continued to open up in front of him. 

“Hello?” he called again as he continued to walk. “Who are you? Where are you?”

_Your destiny, Spyro…_

“Destiny?” Spyro asked, cocking his head as he kept walking. “I…I thought I’d already fulfilled my destiny.”

_Come to me, Spyro,_ the voice whispered. _And all will be revealed._

Spyro frowned, but kept walking, heading towards the increasingly bright light as he walked into the forest. There was a path now, one that he hadn’t seen when he had landed at first. He followed the path, walking through the silent woods. The light, he now noticed, was on a hill. The hill was surrounded by crystals that glowed a variety of colors. Green, red, yellow, icy blue…and purple. 

“What is this place?” he muttered to himself, slowly looking at the various groups of crystals as he walked. While others grew out of the ground, more floated in the air around the hill, glistening like particularly bright stars against the dark of the night. “Hello?” he said, louder. “I’m…I’m here! Who are you? What do you want with me?”

The light shut off suddenly, making Spyro jump. In its place was a building, a low, circular building that was nestled on the top of the hill. Spyro’s eyes widened as he slowly worked his way closer. “The Temple?” he breathed, continuing to approach the doors. That was impossible, the Temple had been destroyed during the final confrontation with Malefor…

Which meant he was dreaming again.

“Who’s there?!” he shouted, now approaching the doors and spraying them with a jet of fire. The doors slid open and Spyro entered, looking around the temple’s circular interior. Everything seemed ordinary. The great stone dragon statue still stood in the center of the room, and the Pool of Vision still stood within the Grotto, its waters pristine. “Show yourself!”

There was no answer.

Spyro prowled around the statue and the Grotto, looking around each room. But no one was there. So who had been calling him?

_Spyro…_

Spyro spun, glaring around. “Who’s there?!”

_Do you not know my voice, young dragon?_ The voice that answered back was a deep one, deeper than what he had heard before. In fact, it was a very familiar sort of deep…

“No…” Spyro started backing up, heading back into the Grotto as he shook his head. “No. You’re not real. This is a dream! You’re not real!”

“Oh, little dragon…” Malefor said, his voice seeming to come from everywhere at once. “How wrong you are…do you not remember what I told you? I am _always_ with you. We are brothers. Two purple dragons. And I…continue…through _you_.”

Spyro watched, aghast, as the Guardian statue began to move. Moving far too smoothly to have been stone at all, the statue, in the spitting image of Malefor, crept through the door to the Grotto, his eyes glowing that fell yellow that they had glowed when Spyro and Cynder had confronted him. “You…you’re not…”

“Real?” Malefor asked, widening his eyes and giving that horrible laugh that he’d given before when he had corrupted Cynder into attacking him, and brought him so close to the brink of despair. “Oh, I assure you, Spyro, I am _quite_ real. After all, I came back once…what makes you think that I could not come back again?”

“I saw you!” Spyro replied, his legs shaking. “I saw the Ancestors drag you down! You’re never coming back!”

“And yet, here I am.” Malefor chuckled again. “And here _you_ are, with no one to help you. No traitorous servants, no Guardians, no cheetahs. It’s just you, and me.”

Spyro gasped as fire blossomed behind Malefor, tracing purple flames around the entire Grotto as Malefor advanced on him. “This isn’t happening.” He curled in on himself, tears starting to streak down his face. “This is a dream…you’re not real…this isn’t…”

“Look at me, Spyro,” Malefor snarled, stopping in front of Spyro. “Know your death.”

“No…” Spyro whimpered, keeping his eyes shut. “You’re not—”

“But I am.” Malefor smirked, more purple fire starting to flicker from within his mouth. “Allow me to show you just _how_ real I am.” He opened his mouth, Spyro looking up to see purple fire bursting into being from within his maw. The fire blasted out with the force of a bomb as Spyro let out a scream.

***

“Spyro! Spyro, wake up!” Hunter shook the young dragon’s body as he held Spyro in his arms, barely managing to keep Spyro in his grip as the young dragon thrashed and screamed, frantically flapping his wings. Cynder, standing a short distance away, looked on worriedly as Sparx hovered anxiously.

“NO!” Spyro screamed as he thrashed in Hunter’s arms, his eyes open but not seeing as he clawed at the air, his wings flapping frantically and his tail lashing about. “NO! GET AWAY! IGNITUS! IGNITUS HELP ME!”

“SPYRO!” Hunter shouted, and Cynder winced at the sound of a loud _smack_ as his paw slapped Spyro across the face. Spyro froze with a loud yelp of pain, his eyes widening briefly before they closed and he went limp in Hunter’s arms, the cheetah letting out a soft sigh. 

“Is he okay?” Cynder asked, trotting closer. 

“He’ll be fine,” Hunter said, watching as Sparx buzzed around Spyro’s head, checking his breathing. “He just fainted I think.” He looked back up at Cynder. “We should get him back to the city.”

Cynder nodded and the three turned, making their way to Warfang, just across the plains. The night was quiet, and the wind blew softly across the fields as they walked. Hunter kept Spyro in his arms, his body completely limp as his head hung towards the ground. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be breathing peacefully, but all three were on edge, waiting to intervene in case Spyro began to thrash and yell once again.


	4. Chapter 4

Spyro was transfixed with horror as he looked at the swamp where he was born, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open in shock. Firelight danced off of his face from the raging inferno that were consuming the entire area, sending thick pillars of smoke rising into the sky…including his own home. The small hovel that he’d lived in for most of his life with his parents and Sparx was now burning, his parents’ bodies lost somewhere in the inferno…and the dragon in front of him was the culprit. 

The figure that Cynder and Sparx had called “Dark Spyro” paced around in front of Spyro, its featureless white eyes staring at him as it reveled in the destruction it had caused…the destruction that Spyro, despite flying as fast as he could, had been helpless to stop. And now the black dragon stared at its other half as it paced back and forth, taunting him. 

“Why?” Spyro snarled, taking an aggressive step forward as fire flickered out from his mouth. “Why would you do this?! What did they do to you?!”

_Do you not know?_ Dark Spyro asked, its voice hissing into Spyro’s mind in a soft whisper as it continued to pace. _It is the lot of purple dragons, after all. Did Malefor not tell you? Your lot is to destroy, and only to destroy. Why should anything be exempt?_

“Malefor was wrong!” Spyro shouted back. “I proved it!”

_Truly?_ Dark Spyro chuckled, the sound sending chills up Spyro's back. _Are you truly sure about that? Look at me, after all. All of the potential for your inner evil; your true self, the side that wishes to truly unleash your power. Aren’t you tired, Spyro? Tired of having to hold back, to have to cooperate with everyone to get help? You’re a purple dragon, after all. You can master every element. You can manipulate the universe as you see fit. You’re a god, yet you have to content yourself with cooperating with the mortals. Dark Spyro sneered. It’s pathetic, isn’t it? Frustrating?_

“You’re wrong!” Spyro said. “Everyone else helped me get this far! I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for them!”

_And what good were they when it counted?_ Dark Spyro asked. _Cynder betrayed you at the end. She wouldn’t let you save Ignitus, she betrayed you for Malefor. And what good is Sparx? He’s always insulted you, always teased you. And the Guardians? Useless. The world was nearly destroyed because they failed to stop the Destroyer in time._

“That…that wasn’t their fault!” Spyro shook his head. “That was Malefor! The Destroyer kept moving because of him!”

_But_ you _could have stopped it_ , Dark Spyro replied. _Look at what you were able to do when you allowed me to help you. You were able to strike down Gaul with ease, when before he had been beating you. With that much power, you could have beaten the Destroyer on your own. But then, when it truly mattered, you held me back! Ignitus died because of you and your lack of resolve!It WOULD HAVE._ Dark Spyro snarled. _With your power you could have bolstered his shield, saved his life! You could have gone back into the fire to rescue him, but you let Cynder decide your actions! What right does she have? You are the purple dragon! You are the savior of the world! Who is she to question your actions, to decide what you do? And because you allowed her to, Ignitus died!_

“I DIDN’T!” Spyro screamed, putting his chin on the ground and covering his eyes with his paws. “HE WAS ALREADY GONE!” Tears leaked from under his paws as he began to sob, remembering that horrible moment again. “He was already gone…I…I couldn’t have…I couldn’t have done anything!”

_Liar._ Dark Spyro’s tail lashed out, slamming into the side of Spyro’s head and sending him sprawling, tumbling into the ash-choked river as Dark Spyro continued. _You were too scared. Even with the power I brought you, you refused to use me. Against Malefor, against the Destroyer, against Cynder! You have been given great power, but you’re too weak to use it!_

Spyro surfaced, coughing as water dripped from his body and he turned to his darker half with a glare. “I’m not weak!” he shouted, charging at the spectral black dragon. Black fire spewed from Dark Spyro’s mouth, slammed into Spyro’s chest, and knocked him backward, back into the river with a splash. As he surfaced, gasping for air, Dark Spyro was already there and brought its claws down on Spyro’s head, shoving him back underwater and burying his muzzle in the riverbank. 

_Liar,_ it hissed again. _You have always been weak. Last to fly in your family, needing Ignitus’s help in all things, even to merely get to Malefor. You couldn’t even face him on your own; you relied on Cynder, used her as a crutch. You besmirch the very memory of the purple dragon; where was your power? Your skill? Nowhere. It would be better if you died…and I will ensure that you do._

Spyro couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. His paws flailed helplessly as Dark Spyro, with staggering strength, kept his head planted in the muddy water. Mud and water filled Spyro’s nostrils and mouth, his vision growing darker and darker, harder to breathe, harder to think…

“He’s choking! HUNTER! CYRIL! ANYONE!”

“Get away, Cynder! Give him some air! Sparx, get back!”

“What’s happening?! Spyro, can you hear me?! Come on bud, answer me! Wake up! SPYRO!”

***

Spyro’s eyes snapped open, staring at the ceiling of Malefor’s citadel with quivering pupils. He couldn’t move; couldn’t speak. But he could breathe, and that was the important thing. All he knew was that he recognized the stench of ash, the presence of overwhelming evil. Looking down at him were a number of shadowy figures, dragons, all with the same white eyes and shifting forms as Dark Spyro. Spyro’s pupils, already shivering and shrunken from sheer fright, only shrank further, and his breathing began to get even more rapid. 

“What’s happening?” said one of the dragons. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s awake, I can tell that much,” said another voice. “But…he’s not moving.”

“Spyro, buddy?” a third voice said, one of the shadowy figures leaning down into him. “You okay? It’s me, Sparx!”

Spyro let out a great gasp, the entire scene dissolving into bright light, before it was replaced with a new image. A circular ceiling, _his_ ceiling, the scent of autumn wind, the cold of rain, and the feeling of a soft mattress beneath him. And above him, faces. Familiar faces: Terrador, Cyril, Volteer, Sparx, Hunter…and Cynder.

“Spyro?” she asked, leaning closer. “Are you awake?”

“C-Cynder…?”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Sparx said, looking down into Spyro’s eyes from on top of his head. “Spyro. If you can hear me, blink twice.”

Spyro blinked twice. Sparx nodded, satisfied, and flew off as Cynder came closer, her paws padding softly on the sheets. “Spyro…what happened? You flew out the window, and when I got Hunter and tried to follow you, you had fallen asleep and crashed in a field. Then you started screaming and thrashing, and now all of this…”

She looked so earnest. They all looked so earnest. All of this trouble, and all of it for him. All of the frustration from the past day, all of the fear and heartache from then and now, finally bubbled to the surface. Tears welled in Spyro’s eyes and he started to sob, the tears running down his cheeks and staining the sheets. “I…I’m so sorry…”

“No more apologies, Spyro,” Terrador said. “Whatever’s happening isn’t your fault.”

“It’s these nightmares you’ve been having, from what Cynder says,” Cyril said. “And nightmares are a natural part of life. No need to be ashamed.”

“Do you know why these may be happening, Spyro?” Hunter asked, cocking his head.

Spyro shook his head, closing his eyes and laying his head back on his pillow. “I…I don’t know.” He sighed. “It just…started last night. Every time I go to sleep, even in the day, I…I have these nightmares. They start off innocently enough but…eventually they get corrupted into something…different. Every time something happens to make it turn horrible, no matter what it starts out as.” His eyes half-opened and sighed again. “And I just end up making trouble.”

“What sort of dreams, Spyro?” Hunter asked again as he wrung out a soft cloth over a bowl of water, gently rubbing the dragon’s forehead with it. Spyro allowed himself a sigh of contentment at the cool feeling on his scales, then opened his eyes again. 

“I see…spirits, I guess you could call them? I see Ignitus…I saw Malefor…I saw my parents, the swamp where I grew up, burning…” He turned his head in Cynder’s direction. “And you, Cynder.”

“Your…darker half again?” Cynder asked. Spyro nodded. 

“Before I woke up…he was there. He’d burned the swamp, killed my parents…Said you were all holding me back.” He scrunched his eyes shut, trying to force the memory out of his mind. “He said…he said I could have saved Ignitus…if you hadn’t stopped me.”

“Spyro, nothing you did could have saved Ignitus,” Volteer said. “He knew the risks as a Guardian. He knew that you and Cynder were more valuable than he was. If not for him, you wouldn’t be here at all.”

“Ignitus’s loss hit us all hard, Spyro,” Terrador added. “And his absence still pains us all deeply as well. But dwelling on the past won’t help anything.”

“I’m sure Spyro knows that,” Hunter said, looking up at Terrador. “But you can’t control what you dream about, Terrador. And Spyro has been through an ordeal that no other dragon has been through before. It’s hardly surprising that he’s reacting this way, especially since he’s so young.”

“Gentlemen,” Cyril said suddenly, having watched Spyro’s eyes flick back and forth as he’d tracked the argument, his lips forming a thin line as his claws tightened around the sheets, “as _riveting_ as this discussion is, I do not believe that it’s best to have it in front of Spyro. If anything, we should leave him to rest.”

“Cyril raises a good point.” Terrador nodded. “Cynder, Sparx, you stay with Spyro. We’ll come back to check on him later.”

“I know some plants that help with sleeping, Spyro,” Hunter said as he walked around the bed and out of the room. “I’ll make you something that should take those nightmares away.”

“Thank you, Hunter.” Spyro watched everyone else go, and Hunter tossed a casual salute before he shut the door, leaving Spyro, Cynder, and Sparx the only ones left in the room. 

“Well,” Sparx said, anxiously rubbing his hands together. “That was…an experience.”

“What happened, Cynder?” Spyro asked. “I thought I was in Avalar, but if I only made it outside the city…”

“Well, after you randomly took off without us— _Thanks_ , by the way, making me worried sick,” Sparx said, “Cynder and I ran to get Hunter and ran out after you. Then we found you out in the field.”

“You’d fallen asleep and fallen out of the sky,” Cynder said. “You weren’t hurt, but you were all curled up and…you were thrashing around and yelling. Hunter had to slap you to get you to calm down.” She cocked her head. “What was it this time, Spyro? What happened?”

“Malefor.” Spyro winced as Cynder sharply sucked in air. “Sorry.”

“I-It’s fine.” Cynder shook her head. “Go on, Spyro.”

“O-okay. I was…in Avalar. I thought I’d gone there to try and clear my head. You know, get…” Spyro swallowed. “Get away from the nightmares. And I set down in this field, but started hearing a voice. And then I saw a…a light. And it led me to the Dragon Temple.”

“Dragon Temple?” Sparx interrupted. “As in the ‘floating up the sky, blew up into little bitty pieces’ Dragon Temple that Malefor was using? That Dragon Temple?”

“Yeah.” Spyro nodded. “I knew it was a dream then because of that…but then I went inside and nothing seemed out of place.” Spyro swallowed again, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “And that was when Malefor appeared. He…attacked me. He was back for revenge, and…”

“That’s when you started screaming,” Cynder finished. “And thrashing all over the place.”

“In the dream he was trying to kill me,” Spyro said. “He was…spitting flames at me and…throwing me around. I really thought it was the end. He was laughing at me, taunting me. Wanting me to call for help. To…to see that no one was coming to save me.”

“What about the other dream?” Sparx asked. “With Dark Spyro? You started choking once while we were looking at you in the bed. And you were yelling something then too. What happened in that one?”

“Well…um…” Spyro looked up at Sparx and Cynder. “It was that…darker me, again. He…He killed Mom and Dad, Sparx. In the dream. He set the whole swamp on fire, burned the house down and…he started to drown me.”

“Drown you?” Cynder’s eyes narrowed.

“There was a river near where Sparx and I lived. He pushed me in there, held my head under the water. He yelled at me for…holding back. Said I could have done anything, but because I listened to you, and Sparx, and Hunter, and Ignitus, and the other Guardians…he said what Malefor said, that…that I could only destroy. He wanted me to use him more…said that if I had then Ignitus wouldn’t have died.”

“Oh, Spyro…” Cynder went to nuzzle Spyro again but he pulled away, looking down at the bed and away from her as he subconsciously curled his wings around himself. 

“Please, Cynder…” Spyro shook his head. “Can you two just…leave me alone, for a while?”

“Why would we do that?” Sparx asked, buzzing around into Spyro’s vision. “We’ve always been together, Spyro! And we’re not about to start now.”

“No, Sparx.” Spyro shook his head and looked up at his adopted brother. “You can’t help me with this. Just…leave me alone.”

“Spyro, remember what I told you in the Burned Lands?” Cynder said. “You’re never going to be alone. Because I’m going to be here with you.”

“But you’re not _there in my dreams, Cynder!_ ” Spyro snapped as he spun around, fixing Cynder with a fiery glare that she rapidly backed away from. “ _None of you are! I’m always alone!_ ” He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his paws in frustration as tears of anger welled up in them. “I’m…always…”

There was an awkward silence, the only real sound being the rumble of thunder and patter of rain as the storm raged on outside, nearly drowning out the sounds of Spyro’s quiet sobs. “C’mon, Sparx,” Cynder said, gently getting off the bed. “Let’s let Spyro get some rest.”

Sparx gave Spyro a suspicious look as he left, following Cynder as she padded out of the room. Sparx lingered for a minute, then buzzed back over to the bedside, where Spyro was lying down and curling blankets around himself. “Hey, Spyro? If you need anything…just ask, okay?”

Spyro grunted in acknowledgement as he nestled further down in the sheets, back still pointed at the door. Sparx huffed and then followed Cynder out as she closed the door behind them. In the meantime, Spyro closed his eyes, curling up even more in the sheets of the bed as he tried not to start crying again.


	5. Chapter 5

Warfang burned. Fire ripped through the city streets, sending thick pillars of smoke rising into the air to obscure the sun. Buildings collapsed and the sounds of screams and the clashing of weapons rang through the air as hordes of Grublins surged through the broken walls and shattered gate, butchering the defending moles in vast numbers. The city’s last surviving dragons were doing what they could, spraying fire and ice and electricity down on the ceaseless Grublin hordes, but they were being swatted from the air by catapult shots, sending their large bodies tumbling down into the chaos. 

From a nearby hill, Spyro watched it all, doing his best to mentally convince himself that it wasn’t real. The Grublins had all died when Malefor had been defeated, the dark magic sustaining them disappearing as he had been dragged into the core of the world by the spirits of the Ancestors. The Shadow Apes, and other wicked things Malefor had used in his armies, had gone the same way. 

But that didn’t change what he’d seen in the dream. He’d seen Terrador disappear under a tide of Grublins attempting to hold the main gate. Hunter had been crushed by falling rubble. Cyril had been blasted out of the sky by a catapult shot, and Spyro had seen Volteer be overwhelmed by Wyverns and spiral out of control, dozens of them latching onto his body before they all smashed into a building that had then collapsed, burying all of them in rubble. But there was an even worse part of the dream…he couldn’t move. Spyro’s feet seemed permanently attached to the ground, with him unable to move no matter how hard he flapped his wings and leaving him as a simple witness to the city’s destruction, unable to help.

_It’s not real_ , he thought to himself, shutting his eyes and looking away from the city. _It’s already happened. We won. Warfang is still here. It’s just a dream._

“Is it?” a voice said from next to him. 

Spyro’s eyes snapped open, his pupils shrunk and quivering as he looked to the right. “C…Cynder?”

Cynder stood next to him, wreathed in shadow, her eyes a blank white. She turned her head to look at him, her expression impassive but with an unmistakable air of malice hanging off of her. “Time for you to learn how complicated life can be, Spyro.”

“No.” Spyro shook his head. “No, this isn’t right…I-I saved you.”

“You thought so,” Cynder said, starting to pace around Spyro. “Did you really think you had? I’d been under the Dark Master’s thrall for years, Spyro. Did you truly think that one little good deed would be enough to ‘save’ me?” She chucked, a low and sinister sound that Spyro had never heard from her. “You’re so naïve.”

“But…in the Temple,” Spyro said. “When Malefor did this last time--.”

“Malefor was a tool,” Cynder said. “Do you really think I needed _him_? I conquered the world while he was in Convexity, beat all four Guardians, beat _you._ I _always_ beat you, Spyro. And now that he’s gone…I can do it all again.” She chuckled once again, shaking her head. “You were a tool, too. Nothing more.”

“But…” Spyro turned his head, catching Cynder’s white eyes as she circled him again. “What about afterwards? When you…you said…”

“That I loved you?” Cynder scoffed. “Please. You were nice to me, sure. But did you think I actually loved you? All of that support I gave you, all of those comforts? What good would it have been to me if I’d let Malefor destroy the world? I wouldn’t have anything to rule over unless you helped me stop him.”

“You’re lying,” Spyro said, glaring at her. “You’re not Cynder. This is another dream. The _real_ Cynder would never say that.”

“You may be right,” Cynder said. “But how do you know what she’s like in real life? You’ve only known her a few weeks. For all you know she could be plotting right now. She has the Dark Master’s power. She knows how he works. She knows everything she knows to become a threat to you.”

“You’re wrong!” Spyro growled. “Cynder would never--!” 

“Am I?” Cynder cocked her head, smirking. “Do you know for _sure_? You had your own destiny, Spyro. This is mine. To conquer in the Dark Master’s name. To succeed him. And to kill you.”

Spyro glared at her, huffing and snorting twin plumes of smoke from his nose. “You’re wrong. You’re nothing but a copy. Cynder is my friend, and even more than that. And I trust Cynder a lot more than I trust someone like _you._ ”

Cynder’s expression darkened, her sightless eyes narrowing as the ground began to shake. “Then see what your trust gets you.”

The shaking began to intensify. Spyro slowly turned his head to look at the city, and could only watch in a bizarre mixture of awe and horror as Warfang exploded. Huge pieces of earth and stonemasonry flew into the air, crashing down among the hordes of Grublins as plumes of lava and ash shot skyward. Spyro winced, shielding his face with his wings as lava bombs careened down onto the hill, smashing down all around he and the false Cynder. A loud roar, louder than even the explosion, split the air. Spyro brought his wings back down, his heart sinking as he saw a familiar titanic form rise from the hole. 

The Destroyer threw its head back and roared again, the sound shaking the ground and vibrating Spyro’s bones within his body. _It’s a dream_ , he thought, shutting his eyes and gritting his teeth. _It can’t hurt me. It can’t hurt anyone; it’s gone. Gone forever._ He felt the Destroyer take its first steps, the ground shaking almost uncontrollably with each colossal impact, the sound of more crumbling stonework as its enormous body crashed against the surviving buildings. 

“Open your eyes, Spyro,” Cynder hissed in his ear. “Witness your doom.”

Against his will, Spyro’s eyes slowly opened again. His breath hitched in his chest, his body beginning to tremble. The Destroyer was directly in front of him, its hellish red eyes staring into his own as it breathed hot, ashen breath into his face. 

_It’s not real,_ Spyro thought to himself frantically. _It can’t hurt me. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s a dream. It’s not real. It’s not—._

The Destroyer opened its mouth again and let out a roar, one that seemed to consume Spyro’s entire being. His body felt like it was going to shake apart as the roar consumed his hearing, his sight, his thoughts, shook his bones in his body, made his head feel like it was going to burst, and filled his mouth with ash and dust. His head rang as the roar seemed to consume every thought, every emotion, stripping away his scales, his muscle, his bones, his mind, and even, at last, his soul…

***

Spyro’s eyes snapped open in the dark. He lay there in bed a while longer, trembling, breathing shallow and rapid as he remembered where he was. Warfang. He and Cynder and Sparx’s room. But the hour was later; a great deal later. The room was completely dark, thunder still rumbling in the distance as rain pattered down on the roof of the building and in Warfang’s city streets. Next to him, close to him but not quite touching him, was Cynder. She was lying facing him, the only part of her sticking out in the dark being the white markings on her body. Sparx’s light flickered fitfully from his own bed in his enclosure, the dragonfly’s snoring audible even over the rain.

Spyro quietly rose from the bed, stepping out of it and walking to the window. A walk in the rain would do him good, maybe. Clear his head. He got up onto the sill, spreading his wings. His vision flickered briefly as his eyelids fluttered, and Spyro shook his head; he still hadn’t slept well, especially with that nightmare. His head clearing, he dove out the window, pulling up short just before the ground and landing easily. The rain pattered on his scales, dripping off his horns, his wings, his spines. It felt amazing. 

He started walking, not having any real destination in mind. He needed something to wake him up, keep him from nodding off again. There was no telling of what he would dream of the next time he fell asleep, and the nightmares were getting worse each time. The streets were empty at this time of night; even the dragons and moles on watch didn’t want to be out in the rain. Spyro didn’t mind it though. The rain had been chilled by the autumn wind and was cold and refreshing, helping to clear his head and keep him awake. 

But at the same time, he couldn’t help but think…was he still dreaming? Before everything, when he had still lived in the swamp and thought he was a dragonfly, he’d heard Sparx sometimes talk about having a dream, then waking up, only to find out that he was still dreaming when he woke up again. That thought invaded Spyro’s head now, and he stopped in the middle of the street he had turned down, looking left and right for dragons made of shadow, Grublins, world-destroying golems, and the like. 

The only sounds were dripping water and the patter of rain on cobblestones. Small makeshift waterfalls dove off of home decorations, creating constant splashing noises that rang in Spyro’s ears as he walked past them, bouncing off of the surrounding buildings. Spyro reached the end of another street and stopped, narrowing his eyes. Standing at the end of the avenue to his left was a shadow, illuminated in the light of a dragonfire lamp. It was a dragon’s shadow, big and spiky with two enormous wings folded at his sides. 

“Hello?” he said, stepping in its direction. “Who’s there?” The shadow remained silent, then turned to the right and walked off. “Hey!” Spyro shouted, galloping after it. “Come back!”

He reached the end of the street, his claws clicking as he skidded to a stop, only to find nothing. There was no dragon, no retreating silhouette. There wasn’t even, he noticed, a lantern. The avenue was dark and deserted. 

“Not again…” he moaned softly, looking up at the sky towards whatever fates were amusing themselves at his expense. “Ancestors, can’t you just _let me sleep?!_ ”

“ _Spyro…_ ”

Spyro stiffened, his eyes wide as he brought his head down and looked left, then right. “Hello? Who’s there?” Silence met the question again. Spyro snorted angrily, twin jets of fire coming out of his nose. “I know someone’s there! Show yourself!”

“ _Spyro…_ ”

Spyro turned his head in the direction of the voice again, glaring down the alley that lay in that direction. A quick blur of motion, a tail swiping around a corner, met his eyes. “Hey!” he shouted, and took off in that direction. “Come back here! Who are you?”

The tail had already vanished around another corner by the time that Spyro skidded to a stop, but a shadow taking off right gave him something to follow. It went on like that, again and again, Spyro chasing the mysterious voice through the rain as it called to him with each new movement always clearly audible over the rain. A shadow at the end of a street, a wingtip waving in a beckoning gesture, the clicking of claws down an alleyway, or a tail slithering across cobblestones. And all the while, that voice, urging him on. 

“ _Come, Spyro…_ ”

“ _This way, young dragon._ ”

“ _Follow my voice…_ ”

Spyro came to a stop again, this time in a well-lit street lined by lamps that were lit by dragonfire. Looking first up, then down the street, he gasped as he saw the tail again, finally lit in the better light of the street. It was reddish orange in color, and swiped around a corner as he watched. “I-Ignitus?!” He hurried after the tail, drifting around the nearest corner in time to see it turn again. “Ignitus, wait! _Ignitus!_ ” 

Finally, Spyro skidded to a stop as he came to the end of another alleyway, this one opening up into a plaza. Specifically, Warfang’s central plaza, a great, open, circular space that on clear and cloudless days would have been thronged with dragons and moles and cheetahs and all the other races of the Dragon Realms. Now, however, in the night and the rain, it was completely empty. 

“Ignitus?” Spyro said as he carefully walked into the plaza, turning his head left and right as he looked for any sign of the Guardian. “A-Are you still there?”

There was no answer, only the sound of rain. Spyro continued to head further into the plaza, his head on a swivel, until he finally stopped near the center. Sighing and sending a jet of rain misting off his muzzle, Spyro looked up at the statue. He’d gotten to know it intimately as it had been carved, created by the best of the city’s moles and placed in the central plaza as a mark of honor. A figure of Ignitus stood upon it in full armor, his shield attached to his arm, his helmet placed proudly on his head, and his lance stuck into the ground next to him. A statue of Spyro, a candid addition to the sculpture, stood next to him, not wearing armor but still standing proudly by his side. 

But the real Ignitus wasn’t there. There was no sign of the red dragon, or anyone else. Spyro closed his eyes and sat down, staring at the pavement. “Not again…” he whimpered, blinking away at tears that threatened to stream down his face again. “Please not again…” He sat there in the rain for a time, feeling it hit his scales and drip off his muzzle and the statue’s dimensions. He felt like an idiot; he’d come out here to clear his head, and instead had followed another hallucination, entered another dream without realizing it. Thunder rumbled in the distance, echoing off of Warfang’s buildings.

“Why?” Spyro asked suddenly, turning his head upward to look up at the statue. “Why is this happening to me? Why _me_ , out of everyone else?” He shook his head, spraying water everywhere. “I can’t _take this_ , Ignitus! I just can’t! I keep having nightmares, and they’re not stopping!” He sighed, letting his head hang. “I-I _need_ you, Ignitus…there’s still so much I have to learn…so much I have to deal with… _Why?!_ ” Spyro slammed his paw into the ground, sending up a splash of rainwater. “Why did it have to be _you_ , Ignitus?! There had to have been another way! _Any_ way!” 

Tears began to drip from Spyro’s face, splashing down into the puddle beneath him as he sobbed, his back heaving with the force of them. He leaned down into a lying position, resting his head on his paws as he looked up at the statue. “Why couldn’t it have been me, instead of you?! You…You should be here…” he sobbed. “You should be here with us instead of being…gone.” Just forcing the word out nearly made Spyro choke, and he took in a deep, ragged breath. “Maybe…maybe they were right. You died because I wasn’t strong enough to save you. If I had been…if I’d given in…I could have helped you. We could have all made it through together.”

“And now I have to deal with _this_.” Spyro squeezed his eyes shut. “I…I don’t know what to do, Ignitus. I don’t know how to stop the nightmares, and no one else can help me either. I keep having all of these dreams…and you’re not here to tell me that everything will be alright.” He opened his eyes again, looking back up at Ignitus as tears mixed with raindrops. “I just…I miss you so much, Ignitus. I don’t know what to do now…you were always here to guide me before, and the other Guardians are doing their best, but I…I really wish you were here again. I feel helpless. And…and I feel alone.”

Thunder rumbled overhead again. The rain was getting more intense, now pattering down around him with greater force. It wouldn’t do going back in this weather; Spyro didn’t feel like facing Cynder and Sparx again anyway. The space below Ignitus’s statue, however, was just his size, and it looked dry and cozy. Spyro got up and walked to the statue, blowing a gentle jet of fire into the interior and sending short-lived flames licking up the plinth and along the inside of Ignitus’s wings, which hung below the elder dragon’s body. The warmth felt pleasant as it radiated outward, and Spyro climbed in, circling a few times before plunking himself down on the plinth. 

This was nice. Even if he didn’t have anyone else around him, being at least somewhat in Ignitus’s presence again made Spyro feel safer, somehow. The warmth of the space was helping too, encroaching from all sides with a heat that wasn’t uncomfortable, and made even the stone feel soft like a feather bed. Spyro’s eyes suddenly felt much heavier. He blinked sleepily a few times before laying his head on his paws again, staring out at the rain and letting the sound of water on stone lull him to sleep. As his eyes began to flutter he could see a form approaching, a large dragon that seemed entirely unbothered by the rain, approaching the statue with a casual yet dignified gait. Spyro watched, blinking to keep himself awake, as the dragon approached the statue and stopped. 

“I’m not going back,” he said before he let out an enormous yawn. “So, you can tell Terrador or Volteer or Cyril or Cynder or Sparx or Hunter that they can come here, if they want to talk to me.”

The dragon simply stayed there as Spyro yawned again. As Spyro’s eyes shut for the last time, he noticed through a nearly-asleep haze that the dragon was a bright reddish-orange. “Ig…ni…?”

“ _Spyro…_ ” the voice whispered as Spyro’s eyes dropped shut, his head resting on the warm stone.


	6. Chapter 6

Blue. That was all that Spyro saw, and he loved it. Just sky and sea, unbroken by clouds or islands. The wind rushed along his body, lifting his wings, rustling his spines, and lifting his heart. Spyro flew with his eyes closed, an enormous smile on his face as he did so. He’d needed this. A way to get away from all of the hustle and bustle of Warfang, at least for a little while. Nothing around but the sky and sea, no sound but his wings flapping. There weren’t even any birds around; he was entirely alone. 

Spyro swept low, heading down towards the ocean, a smooth and unbroken sheet of blue glass that reflected the sun above him. He swooped down over the waves, his paws just above the unbroken blue as spray from his path flew up into his face. He tilted slightly as he hit a thermal, his wings outstretched and allowing one wing spine to brush against the water, carving a furrow in the still water. 

He righted himself and gave his wings a mighty flap, propelling himself upward and back into the sky. Tilting back, he did a few loops, halting at the apex of the fourth to look out at the ocean, steadily flapping his wings. He hadn’t been given much of a chance to enjoy the ocean across all of his adventures; when he’d first set out they’d been dominated by Malefor’s apes, making traveling a hazard. Then he’d been captured by sky pirates, and then he hadn’t even had time to get near the ocean when Malefor had launched his war. 

But now, after so long away, to be able to fly over it so safely was exactly the sort of thing he needed. No threats, no distractions. Just him and the sky, the wind in his ears and under his wings, the warmth of the sun on his back, and the cold spray of the sea on his face. No dreams, no nightmares, nobody nagging him about how he needed to sleep. He didn’t need sleep, not now. 

Spyro dove again, heading straight towards the water. As he approached it he began to angle himself, his steep divebomb turning into a gentle glide that allowed him to plant all four paws in the water, then gently coast to a stop, treading water. It sloshed around him, and Spyro began to lightly kick as he treaded water, letting his wings span out to their full length, several yards across. The water was warm from the sun but not uncomfortably so, and the feeling on Spyro’s scales was exquisite as he floated there in the water. 

_This is a good dream,_ he thought to himself as he paddled around, splashing about with himself. He dove underwater, his cheeks bulging with held breath as he looked around. The sun shone through the water’s surface, illuminating the shining scales of thousands of fish as they swam down further beneath him, still apprehensive of the purple newcomer in their midst. In the deeper shadows there were larger forms, and in Spyro’s ears distant whale calls echoed deeply. However, despite the huge amount of life around him, underwater was just as peaceful as above. 

He surfaced with a loud gasp of air, spitting a little fountain of water up into the air and laughing before turning himself, spreading his wings to help him float flat on his back on the surface of the water. He could feel fish disturbing the water just beneath him, but the sound of the waves and warmth of the sun felt so nice, and the whole place was so peaceful, that he felt like he could fall asleep. He closed his eyes, sighing in contentment…then opened them again as the light of the sun faded away beyond his eyelids. 

Out of nowhere a massive cloud bank had sprung up, swallowing the formerly clear blue sky in inky blackness. Lightning flashed inside the cloud and thunder rumbled in its wake. Spyro quickly rolled over and froze part of the ocean with his ice breath, giving himself a platform that he could climb onto and then take off of as he rocketed up into the sky, through the bottom of the cloud bank. It wasn’t very much better than it was on the outside; while there were gaps in the rumbling clouds, all he could really see was flashes of lightning illuminating more cloud banks. 

“How big is this storm?” he wondered softly to himself before taking off. If he flew far enough in one direction he was sure to come out, and he didn’t really see any other option. He banked and yawed and twisted and rolled through cloud after cloud, finding holes and peaks where he could and creating them where he couldn’t. From time to time Spyro winced as lightning scythed through the clouds close to him, the rumbling of thunder utterly surrounding him and assaulting his eardrums from all directions. 

Then there were the shadows. Spyro hadn’t seen them at first when he’d entered the storm, having been too busy focusing on avoiding the lightning to look at anything else. But as he flew on further and got used to the lightning flashes, other things in the clouds began to draw his eye. Massive dragons hid within the banks, low enough to obscure their features but high enough to let him see they were there. Hulking shapes that should have had no business flying at all stomped through the clouds, and now, instead of thunder, Spyro could hear roars, deep laughter, and rumbling growls. He saw eyes glimmer in the cloud banks, glowing bright yellow or hellish red. Great wings beat and massive shapes undulated within the larger thunderheads. 

Spyro stopped flying, stopping in one open space as he simply flapped his wings, hovering in place as he looked around. He was sure that he’d just been flying in one direction since he entered the storm, but there was still no sign of the other side of the maelstrom. Instead there were thick, roiling clouds all around him, lightning illuminating the insides and exposing more shadows that twisted and wound all around him. Now that he had stopped moving, Spyro could recognize them: the winding, twisting, slim form of Cynder, before they’d met. Malefor’s spiky form, yellow eyes glimmering in Spyro’s direction. He could see the lumbering form of the Destroyer, the hunched and bestial form of Gaul. They surrounded him, and their thunder became roars, laughter, whispered taunts that he couldn’t make out.

Spyro’s head turned this way and that, his heart beating loud and fast in his chest as he began to pant heavily. “Stop…” he whispered, covering his ears even as the noise continued to slip in. “Stop it…” 

The clouds were closing in on him now, roiling and shifting as the shadows came closer, forming brief shapes that stuck out from the clouds’ soft outlines. Grasping claws, fearsome heads, snapping jaws. The voices were now nearly overwhelming, filling Spyro’s head. He couldn’t think, he could only hear Cynder’s hissing taunts, Malefor’s maniacal laughter, the Destroyer’s roars, Gaul’s gravelly threats…

_Spyro._

The clouds were gone, as if they’d never been there. Only blue sky was in its place, the warm sun once again bathing down on Spyro. He looked up from his hunched-over position, eyes turning this way and that as he looked around. But there were no clouds, no storm, no wicked shadows…

_Spyro._

Spyro looked down, his eye ridges beetling together as he spotted an island that had suddenly appeared in the sea below. He knew it hadn’t been there before; he’d had a completely unobstructed view of the sea before then, and there had been no island at all. But there it was, in this dream that he was having. It looked, in fact, suspiciously like White Isle. But that was impossible; he was nowhere near it.

Spyro flew down towards the island, the details becoming more and more detailed as he came closer. He could see White Isle’s white sandy beaches, the ice, the floating rocks kept aloft by the mysterious magic that the island held. Even closer and he saw the temple, where the Chronicler made his residence. He angled down in its direction, heading for the interior courtyard. 

He didn’t expect for the Chronicler to appear in his dreams at all, especially since he’d fulfilled his destiny, and had defied both his fate and Cynder’s despite what the Chronicler had seen for it. The blue dragon had advised he and Cynder how to proceed after they’d been rescued by Hunter, but since then had been quiet. As Spyro set down in the courtyard, he looked up at the temple’s massive front door. He sighed, shaking his head. He had no idea if the Chronicler had any experiences with persistent nightmares…but he was out of options, even if it was just in a dream, rather than the real thing. 

He walked towards the doors, which opened at his approach and exposed the temple’s interior. The Chronicler’s temple was the same as he remembered it; the round rooms, walls lined with books, the massive hourglass in the center, filled with blue sand. Spyro looked around, his head turning from side to side as he looked around. He couldn’t see the Chronicler at all; which was odd, because the last time he’d been there the Chronicler had met him immediately.

“Hello?” he called into the quiet room. “Chronicler? I-It’s me, Spyro! I…I have to talk to you! It’s important!”

Silence greeted his voice. Spyro’s eyes swept the room again, wondering if the ancient dragon was asleep somewhere. But all he could see were the room’s blue-runed walls. In one area he could see his book, the leather cover purple with gold filigree as it had always been. Spyro walked around the hourglass, towards the other room. “Chronicler? A-are you there? Hello?”

A sound from behind made him turn, heavy draconic footfalls and clicking claws coming closer. “C-Chronicler?”

“Is that any way to greet an old friend, young dragon?” the Chronicler said suddenly as he rounded the hourglass, turning one bright eye in Spyro’s direction. “You don’t need to be so formal with me, Spyro.”

Spyro’s eye ridges beetled together as his eyes narrowed slightly. This dragon…wasn’t the Chronicler. He was a turquoise blue, for one thing, and didn’t look nearly as old. He didn’t have a beard, his wings were pristine, and his muzzle was shaped differently. But at the same time, he was familiar…in fact, barring the color, he looked just like…

“Ignitus?” Spyro whispered, taking a hesitant step forward. “I-I-Is that you?”

Ignitus smiled, spreading his wings. “In the flesh. Metaphorically speaking, at least.”

“Ignitus!” Spyro hurtled into Ignitus’s chest, rubbing his head against the former fire dragon’s body. “You’re alive…I thought…With the Belt and…” His eyes snapped open suddenly. “Wait a second.” He scrabbled backwards, getting into a ready stance. “Who are you _really_?” 

Ignitus raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon, Spyro?”

“The last time I saw ‘you’ in a dream, you tried to kill me! Said that I’d let you die and…and you turned into some sort of monster!” Spyro glared up at Ignitus, fire flickering at the edges of his mouth. “So who are you?!”

Ignitus stared down at Spyro, an understanding smile on his lips as he nodded. “Yes, I read about that. But I can assure you, Spyro, that I am indeed the Ignitus you know. And nothing else.”

“But this is a dream, isn’t it?” Spyro asked. “You can’t be here…in the Belt, you…you sacrificed yourself for Cynder and I.”

“Maybe your answer lies further beyond that moment,” Ignitus said. “Do you remember what I said, as you were in the core?” He moved his large head down to be eye level with Spyro. “Dragons never truly die, Spyro. They simply return to nature, strengthening us all. And this…is my role.” He spread his wings, indicating the shelves. “I have been chosen by the Ancestors to become Chronicler, to record this new age.” He looked back at Spyro. “And I am as real as you are.”

Spyro found himself against Ignitus’s chest once more, feeling the warmth of his body as thin tracks of tears began to leak from his eyes. “I thought I’d never see you again…”

“Oh, Spyro.” Ignitus unfurled his wings and wrapped Spyro up in them, holding the young dragon close. “You have my deepest apologies for this. Had I known it would have affected you this badly I would have made myself known to you sooner. And you’ve suffered for it.” He released Spyro, walking over to a side room, filled with dragon-sized cushions. “Come, young dragon. Sit down, and let’s talk.”

Spyro followed Ignitus over, settling down into the cushions as Ignitus did the same. “So…this _is_ a dream, isn’t it, Ignitus?”

“It is indeed,” Ignitus replied with a nod. “But…I do know what you’ve been going through. All of these nightmares, time after time, night after night. And I am very sorry for that, Spyro. I should have been there to comfort you.”

“I-it’s not your fault, Ignitus.” Spyro shook his head. “I don’t blame you for it, I was just…frustrated. I don’t know how it started, and I don’t know how to stop it…I’m tired all the time now, and I’m getting angry at everybody. I…I don’t know what to do…”

“It’s not a matter of doing anything, Spyro,” Ignitus said, leaning in and looking Spyro in the eyes. The young dragon’s eyes were baggy and slightly bloodshot, and Ignitus sighed. “It is…merely a state of mind. As the purple dragon of this age, you have been through a great deal more than any other dragon has before, even the Guardians and I. And with you at such a young age, it was only made worse. It doesn’t surprise me that these nightmares have been afflicting you.”

“But what do I do about them, Ignitus?” Spyro asked. “I don’t know how--.”

“Spyro.” Ignitus interrupted, shaking his head. “This is unfortunately not a threat that you can defeat in the usual manner. It is not a matter of simply knowing what to do. And you are correct in that you cannot face it alone.” He reached out and stroked Spyro’s head with one paw. “You are brave, Spyro, and good-hearted. But ever since you first met me, you have taken it upon yourself to take everyone else’s burdens onto your own shoulders. My own burdens, Cynder’s, Hunter’s…” He sighed, shaking his head good-naturedly. “It is a fine quality to have in a hero, my young friend. But you must also think about you. Especially since the world is now at peace. You cannot simply allow yourself to be willing to do so much that you collapse under the strain of your own obligations. Such as now.”

Spyro looked down, thinking. “So then…what do I do?”

“You are dwelling on the past, and allowing yourself to continually remember the same threats as before,” Ignitus said. “But that is not what you should be doing now. In this new age of peace, there is no need to hold on to the past, or to past regrets. Your holding onto your grief, as well, must end.” He reached a claw underneath Spyro’s chin and lifted his head up, smiling gently. “Spyro, I may no longer be able to be with you as your mentor, but know this; even if I were truly dead, I would _always_ be with you. In heart and spirit, if not in body.”

“But Ignitus…” Spyro said. “Without you I…” He sighed, looking down again. “I feel like I’m all on my own again. Not knowing my place.”

“You have found your place, Spyro,” Ignitus said gently. “It is out in the world, among your friends and loved ones. Not grieving over others.” He lowered his head down and lightly booped his muzzle against Spyro’s. “It is not wrong to grieve for those you have loved and lost. But when you let that grief consume you, and dwell constantly on the past…you become lost in it. You must move on.” He moved back, smiling. “You are surrounded by people that care about you, Spyro. And as long as you allow your past to rule you, you will continue to suffer these nightmares.”

Spyro looked at the floor again for a time, his tail tip flicking from side to side as he thought. Finally, he looked up at Ignitus again. “I can…still come here, right? If I need to?”

Ignitus chuckled, nodding. “Wherever you believe you need to see me, Spyro, be it in visions and dreams, or in the waking world, I will always be here.”

Spyro gave a tired smile. “That’s all I ask, Ignitus.” He got up and walked over, rubbing his head against Ignitus’s body again. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“As am I, young dragon,” Ignitus said, reaching his head down and nuzzling Spyro’s head. “But now, I believe that it’s time to wake up, Spyro…Spyro…Spyro…Spyro…”


	7. Chapter 7

“Spyro…Spyro… _Spyro_ …Spyro!”

Spyro jerked a little, his eyes fluttering open as he slowly raised his head off of the statue’s plinth and looked up. The rain had stopped, and the sun was shining brightly, its light reflecting off of the many large puddles that were scattered around the plaza and causing shimmering prismatic light to fill the hollow underneath Ignitus’s statue. 

“Spyro?”

Spyro blinked a few times, shaking his head a bit to focus until the dragon in front of him came clearly into view. It was Cynder, cocking her head at him as she waited for him to wake up. “C-Cynder? What’re you doing here?”

“Getting you,” she said. “I woke up and you were just…gone. I’ve been looking around all morning.”

“I’m sorry,” Spyro said as he crawled out from the hollow, shaking himself and stretching as he let out an enormous yawn. “I…I had another nightmare, so I went out for a walk.”

“And apparently decided to sleep out here,” Cynder giggled. She looked up at the statue. “So, you decided to sleep under Ignitus?”

“It’s a…long story.” Spyro smiled. “But I think that’s the best I’ve slept in days.”

“Glad to hear it.” Cynder and Spyro walked out of the plaza, Spyro giving another yawn as they did. “So, what did you dream about last night?”

“Well…I was flying.” Spyro subconsciously spread his wings, giving them a few flaps. “Over the ocean. But as I was doing that, a storm came up, and I flew into it to try and get away. But there were…things in it. Malefor, the Destroyer…” he looked over at Cynder. “And you. And I tried to get away from them, but they surrounded me, and trapped me in the clouds. And then…Ignitus saved me.”

“Really? How’d he do that?” Cynder cocked her head. 

“He’s…he’s alive, Cynder.” Spyro said, unable to contain a grin as he looked at her excitedly. “Ignitus is alive.”

“Oh Spyro…” Cynder’s face fell. She shook her head, reaching out a comforting paw. “Spyro, we both saw--.”

“No no nonononono!” Spyro shook his head rapidly. “Not that! He’s alive, Cynder! He’s the Chronicler now! He’s on White Isle!”

“He is?!” Cynder’s eyes widened, and she smiled at him. “Spyro, that’s great!”

“Yeah…it really is.” Spyro took a deep breath and shut his eyes, a few stray, joyful tears leaking down his face. “It really is…”

“So…” Cynder prompted, waving her paw to get Spyro to continue speaking, “how did he save you in your dream?”

“He…called out to me,” Spyro continued. “And just like that, all the storm clouds went away. And down below, I saw White Isle—where the Chronicler lives. And so, I went down there, and Ignitus was there, and said he’d become the Chronicler, and…”

Spyro continued chattering away as they walked, barely allowing Cynder to get a word in edgewise as he told her all about their conversation. Cynder didn’t mind; Spyro was talking more than he had in weeks, especially after the nightmares had begun. Though he still had enormous bags under his eyes and yawned multiple times while he was talking, he seemed more energetic and rested than he had in days. The thought of that, that she would no longer have to see Spyro suffer through his nightmares on his own, made her own heart soar. 

Spyro talked all the way back to their rooms, Cynder mainly nodding along whenever he paused for breath, but eventually, after nearly half an hour of walking, Cynder took the initiative and held up a paw. “Spyro, wait a second.”

“What is it, Cynder?” Spyro asked, cocking his head. “Am…I’m talking too much, aren’t I?”

“No, no, it’s not that.” Cynder shook her head. “I’m glad that you want to talk so much now, Spyro. But I think you might need some more rest, don’t you?” She jerked her head to the left, where a door, specifically the door to their bedroom, stood. “After all, you’ve been awake almost constantly for the past few days.”

“Oh.” Spyro chuckled. “I, hehe, I guess so.”

Cynder smiled and pushed open the door, causing Spyro to stop short. 

The room had been transformed. While the circular shape was still there, the bed had apparently been completely dismantled, replacing the entire center of the room with a massive pile of blankets and pillows that had been arranged into a sort of nest. Spyro blinked in confusion, then saw everything else in the room; it was packed, nearly, once again by the Guardians, and Hunter, and Sparx. “W-what’s all this?”

“A way, hopefully, for you to get some actual sleep,” Hunter said from where he sat amongst all of the pillows, one of his clawed paws unconsciously kneading the soft surface of a pillow. “It was Sparx’s idea.”

“A great big slumber party!” the dragonfly said with a self-satisfied grin. “Or, at least, a way for all of us to lounge around you so that you’re not alone when you go to bed anymore.”

“Aw, Sparx…” Spyro smiled warmly as he and Cynder entered the room, beginning to crawl among the pillows. They were almost like clouds in their own right, being perfectly and and plush. Spyro and Cynder’s paws sank deeply into them, and as they picked up their feet the pillows filled the indentations back in without any trouble. “This feels…really nice. What’s up with these pillows?”

“Thank the Atlawa in the city,” Terrador said. “They were the ones we asked to make the pillows.”

“And quite well they did, too!” Volteer added. “I must say I never would have guessed all of the different uses that one can have for Atlawa wool! Why, if we end up making an industry of this we could have clothing and pillows and coats and--.”

“What Volteer is _trying_ to say,” Cyril said, interrupting before the Guardian of Lightning could really get going, “is that the pillows are the height of comfort, Spyro. You should have no trouble at all getting to sleep and staying asleep nestled among these.”

“But…it’s the daytime.” Spyro looked around at everyone else. “Don’t you all have things you need to do?”

“Those can wait for another time,” Cynder said, gently nuzzling Spyro. “Right now, what we’re focused on is _you_.”

“And don’t worry about anything you need to do, either,” Sparx said. “Terrador cleared your whole schedule.”

“Sparx is correct.” Terrador indicated the pile of pillows with his wing. “Spyro, right now the most helpful thing you can do right now is sleep.”

“W-well…” The pillows _did_ look extremely comfortable. And the room felt warm and cozy with everyone else there as well. Spyro began to blink rapidly, suddenly exhausted beyond compare. “Okay.” He yawned, walking into the pile of pillows and settling down amongst them as Hunter took a blanket from where it was neatly folded next to him and laid it across Spyro’s back. “Only…only if it’s…not a…problem…” His words dribbled off into sleepy mutterings as his eyes quickly fluttered shut, and soon the young dragon was fast asleep, his back rising and falling as he snored softly. 

Everyone else looked at one another, relieved smiles crossing their faces. Cynder gently maneuvered herself next to Spyro’s sleeping body, and a ripple of soft, teasing laughter eased around the room as Spyro flopped over, pressed his body and head against Cynder’s torso and gave a contented sigh.

***

Spyro was flying again. Not over the sea this time, but now in the sky, among the clouds, as the early morning sunlight lit the sea of white below him. The sunlight that warmed his scales also colored the clouds, turning it from a sea of white into an ocean of gold. Spyro looped and twirled, rolled and spun, curving around thunderheads, diving deep into gaps between the clouds, and cutting through thin banks to trail water vapor out from behind him.

He dipped low as he flew over a low cloud layer, rolling slightly to send his wing slicing through the cottony mass beneath him and carving a great furrow in his wake. He felt the vapor fly upward and hit his face, cooling his underside even as the sun warmed his back scales, and the thin membrane of his wings. 

Spyro dove suddenly, folding in his wings and slicing through the thick cloud layer like a pike in a river. He came out of the bottom of the layer, the sun shining brilliantly through the hole that he left in the clouds as he continued to drop, the wind shrieking in his face and drawing tears as gusts lashed his eyes, before he suddenly snapped his wings out. He pulled up short, turning the sudden brake into a loop that sent him screaming across the sky. 

The world still looked as beautiful as ever. Though shortly after the war against Malefor various floating islands had become flying hazards to dragons helping those cut off from civilization during the war, by now the entire planet had healed itself, all of its geography slipping back into place like pieces of an expertly completed puzzle. Now Spyro could see the endlessly stretching forests, the beautiful landscape of Avalar, the newly-undammed river, and Warfang itself, all of it visible across the tableau of the Realms. And everywhere he looked, there was life. 

Flocks of birds flew over the land in great clouds of flapping wings, and along trails and roads there were caravans of cheetahs, moles, fauns, and dragons. Animals moved through the forests, fish leapt out of the oceans and flashed their scales in the sunlight, and insects buzzed everywhere. Spyro could see everything, everywhere, no matter where he looked. He could see White Isle out in the sea, Ignitus perusing book after book on dragon after dragon. He could see Hunter walking in the woods, and the cheetah lifted a paw and waved as Spyro flew over him. He could see the swamp where he’d grown up, the blue and red lights of his parents buzzing around in greeting. He saw the Guardians in Warfang, supervising the repair of the city, all of them waving to Spyro. Among them he saw Sparx’s light, the dragonfly buzzing a greeting. And then…there was Cynder. 

She was more proactive than the rest. Spyro smiled at the black dragoness as she flew up next to him, her own slim wings flapping gently as she kept pace with him across the sky. Cynder smiled back, and they continued flying, off into the golden sunrise. 

In the waking world, the others watched Spyro sleep, a calm smile on the young dragon’s face as his side rose and fell with each steady breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there you have it. I came up with the idea for this fic after I first discovered the Legend of Spyro games and watched all the cutscenes. I really hope that someday those games get the Reignited treatment, but until then I'll just have to be satisfied with writing more stories like this. Thanks for all of you that read and gave me kudos and everything on my first AO3 fic, and if you liked it, I'm already working on another, much longer LOS story that takes place a while after this. So be on the lookout for it when it comes!


End file.
